Copyright JC Wallace 2013
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. If you are new and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. This week’s prompt I used: sunrise or sunset. Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment.
Owen curled into a ball on the gurney he’d been confined to since he’d been abducted. Kidnapped. Taken prisoner…captured. Silence filled the room where he’d been moved earlier. The room was similar to the last one; however there was a large mirror on the wall next to the door. Not hard to figure out he was being observed like an animal. Hooked back up to the IV once again, the cold solution filled his veins, yet the cold wasn’t as intense this time. Now he was only half-frozen to death from the inside out.
Whatever was being pumped into his veins had depressed his appetite—as if he could afford to lose any more weight—and he had to piss constantly. Conveniently, he’d been provided with a bottle to empty his bladder. Fucking humiliating. He’d totally lost track of the time of day or what the day actually was. The room lacked exterior windows and time seemed to move in ebbs and waves. He was experiencing a complete mental breakdown …Or he was in hell. And Turk or Daniel—or whatever his name—was the devil.
After dumping Owen onto the gurney, Turk had backed away, a confusing war of emotions on his face. Then he’d left Owen alone with the monster staff and the monster inside of him. Owen laughed aloud, not caring who watched his spiraling breakdown. If he didn’t laugh, he’d cry. They believed he was an incubus. An incubus that Turk had been hunting from the information he’d gleaned from Dr. Sealy and Malcolm. They seemed to forget Owen existed and most of the time spoke loud enough for him to hear. Their words only reiterated how far up shit crick he was without a fucking paddle.
The door opened and a large man, wide enough to fill the doorway from shoulder to shoulder, entered. He was dressed in the same black outfit as Turk and the other two hooligans he’d encountered. As the man approached the bed, Owen immediately noticed a nasty, jagged scar reaching from his temple down his cheek and jaw, ending at his collar bone. Shit, that must have taken a shit load of stitches to close. The scar pulled down one side of his mouth in a permanent frown. Even without that scar he appeared to be perpetually pissed off.
The mountain moved to the gurney. Owen’s breath hitched with a wisp of panic, growing larger as the man pressed the button to lower the side rail. In one swift movement, Owen was snatched from the bed and forced to steady himself on wobbly legs. Reaching out to grab anything solid, his hand made contact with the man. A trembling growl filled the air and the man shoved Owen away. A stiff wind could have blown Owen over and he slammed into the wall, falling down onto his ass. He hissed at a sharp pain in his hand. Blood pooled on the back of his hand where the IV had been ripped out. Immediately, the cold in his arm began to dissipate.
The man stalked over and pointed a meaty finger at Owen. If hellfire had sprouted from behind the bastard, Owen wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.
“Keep your hands off, demon. I won’t hesitate to snap your neck.” The vitriol was intense. Owen had never encountered such hate and he was gay. Even with the fear of death mere inches from his body, Owen dared to speak.
“Owen. My name is Owen,” he said forcing the words to reach the man’s ears.
The man blinked a few times, totally thrown off guard by Owen’s words. Owen held his breath as the scowl returned to the man’s’ face.
“Get up,” he growled. “Shower.”
He turned away and waited by the door for Owen to join him. On shaky legs, Owen managed to stand, leaning heavily against the wall. Taking in a couple of deep breaths he walked slowly, fearful of falling and pissing the man off even further. As Owen approached, the man, retrieved a gun from a holster under his arm and chambered a bullet in warning. Owen got the hint.
Opening the door, the man backed out into the hallway waving the gun to the left, indicting which direction Owen should move. The bright lights from the large windows momentarily blinded him and the heat from the sun wrapped his body in warmth. He wasn’t sure if it was rising or setting but he reveled in seeing the world again even if the view was obstructed by a brick wall. Still he could see the faint blue of the sky. Hope bloomed once again in his chest until the man grunted.
“Don’t even think of trying to get out of here. This entire floor is locked down. Even I can’t get out without someone on the outside. Now, move. Second door on the left.”
Owen moved forward, slowed by the weakness in his body which only reminded him of his supposed illness. He snorted. Not sick. Something else. Something to do with demons and crazy people who believed in them. His mother and step father and Dr. Celo and Wayne had to be involved somehow, too. His mind forcefully tried to reject the notion, however he couldn’t believe they had deceived him for over ten years or possibly his entire life. He’d never felt more alone
Stopping before the door, the man said, “Five minutes. Put on the clothes hanging on the back of the door.”
Opening the door, he waved Owen inside and the door slammed behind him. He stood in a small cubical with a narrow shower with a dingy white curtain. Nothing else. Quickly, Owen regulated the water temperature, grateful for the chance to clean up. As he stripped out of the skanky hospital gown, a shot of heat raced up his spine and spiked into his head. Grabbing the metal bar by the shower, he and steadied himself. The temperature of his body seemed too warm. Like a fever. Sweat popped out on his skin and he clamped his jaw tight as vibrations filled his muscles. A bolt of terror grabbed his heart as unfamiliar images flashed through his mind, reeling like a film spinning too quickly. Nausea filled his mouth with saliva and if there had been anything in his stomach, he might have thrown up. When he lifted his hand to wipe at the drool at the corner of his mouth, he saw the pool of coagulated blood where the IV had been.
Fuck. The IV.
Another wave of heat expanded through every cell in his body as the images slowed. Images of a battle, of blood, of gore and…damn sex. Lots of sex.
“I can show it all to you. Show you how I came to be. Show you how he will try to kill us.”
A vision of Turk filled his mind, dressed in a black t-shirt that had been torn, and large scratches covered his chest and stomach, blood running from the wounds. His breathing was labored, a scowling determination on his face, hatred in his dark eyes, a long silver sword in his hand. With a scream, Turk raised the sword and charged toward Owen and swung the blade right at Owen’s head.
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